Lola's Case
by freak and proud
Summary: Sands is stuck in a bar in Mexico,courtesy of the CIA's guilty conscience. Correction, he is stuck in a bar in Mexico.Then a woman comes in and does a strange sort of 'get yer coat luv, you've pulled'... IF THIS ISN'T FINISHED, IT NEVER WILL BE. Sorry.
1. Get Yer Coat Luv

A/N: I saw Once Upon A Time In Mexico the other day. It was very good. (understatement) I must admit to being a slight fangirl though, so, you know…

Summary: Sand's is stuck out in Mexico, courtesy of the guilty conscience of the CIA. Correction, he's stuck in a bar, in Mexico. A woman comes in, and does a very strange sort of 'get yer coat luv, you've pulled'. The next thing he knows, he's tied up in a search for El Mariachi and the rest of her gang, and together, they are going to pull off one of the greatest heists in Mexican history.

Disclaimer: Know it? Don't own it.

Agent Sands was sitting in a bar in Mexico. He was playing guitar. For his own pleasure of course. He had known how to play it before the thing with the mariachi, but had had to completely relearn after, so he could play by sound and feel. The CIA had sent him to Mexico. He wasn't an agent any more. Unfit for service. But he kind of liked it here. He could carry a gun without having to get a licence. He was getting special treatment because of the thing with the mariachi. Someone sitting next to him pulled him out of the dream.

"Who are you?" he asked

"Someone you probably don't want to mess with," Sands' brain registered the voice as feminine, England to Mexico probably, a smoker, or had been a smoker. Then he felt the cold steel of the gun. It was hidden, pressed against his stomach, where no one could see it.

"Hey!" he protested.

"Shut up, Sands. Now, act like you know me." The voice was quiet but urgent. Sands forced a smile onto his face and moved for his gun

"Don't even think on it sweetheart. Not unless you wanna se- hear how a armour piercing bullet goes through unprotected muscle." Sands stopped moving for his gun. "Good boy," the gun began to move away. Then it stopped. "There are armed men sitting in this bar. And they're with me. So no funny business,"

Sands carried on strumming. He knew how to act as though nothing was wrong. Then another guitar joined his melody, adding chords.

"Is that you?" he muttered.

"Yes. Now I'm gonna talk, and you, sweetheart, are going to listen,"

"Don't call me sweetheart," he said. She told him to shut up and listen.

"I'm looking for the one they call El Mariachi. I was told you knew him,"

"I might," he said cautiously

"I can pay,"

"Last time I… saw him, he was going to save the President."

"You saw him?"

"Yeah. I didn't always used to be this way, chickie,"

"Can you describe him?"

"Why should I?"

"'Cause I can pay, sweetheart,"

"Don't call me that. How much?"

"For a description? Ten thousand,"

Sands thought for a moment. Déjà vu. Then he held out a hand. It was taken and shaken. The woman had a firm grip.

"Done." She said. "Now, tell me,"

"About five seven, five nine tops. Well built. Wears black with a white shirt, the jacket has a scorpion on it. Latino, with high cheekbones and hair tied back most of the time. Speaks English, but with a Spanish accent. Carries an old guitar case. Don't be fooled. It's full of guns. He's got a bullet wound in his left hand, but covers it with a sort of leather wristband thing that goes between his forefinger and middle finger. Got that?"

There was the sound of a pencil scratching

"Yeah, I got it,"

"Good. Money please,"

"Here y'are, sweetheart,"

"Seriously, don't call me that," Sands turned back to his guitar, suggesting the conversation over. Then curiosity got the better of him

"Why do you want El Mariachi?"

"Because he owes me. And I want the favour,"

"You want someone dead?"

"Nope, I want back up." He heard a guitar be put down, and a case being snapped shut. She paused then said to someone,

"Tequila and lime,"

Sands sighed and ignored her. A moment later she caught his hand and gave him a glass. He sniffed it suspiciously. Ah, the tequila.

"I want you to come with me."

"Err, why?"

"Because I need someone who knows the man. He might be… disinclined to listen to me,"

"What makes you think he'd listen to me?"

"Because, quite obviously, he's met you and not killed you, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that. We had an agreement, yes,"

"Good. And if you come, I will pay you,"

"How much?"

"Into the eight figures, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that!" Sands put down the empty glass. "Jesus, don't you understand English?"

"Obviously I not enough, sweetheart. So, do you know where to find this El Mariachi?"

"No,"

"Do you know the man who might?"

"Yeah, I knew him. Really pissed him off,"

"OK, where is he?"

"Dead,"

"Alright, did you ever see him?"

"Are you paying me for this?"

"Yeah, that ten thousand, sweetheart,"

"That was for the description of El Mariachi!"

"So? I believe that I am calling the shots," the gun was suddenly against his side

"Bitch,"

"Love you too sweetheart,"

"Don't call me that!"

"Tell me, what did he look like?"

"Err, long hair, scar on his chin, long face, weather beaten. Tallish. Carried throwing knives."

"Oh, him, yeah. OK. Pay up sweetheart. We're going,"

She gave him his guitar case, and he paid the bill. Then she led him out side. They stopped and she put her hand on his head

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you don't crack your head sweetheart. You are getting in a car,"

"Don't call me that,"

"Whatever sweetheart. Like I was saying," the door slammed shut. Then another door. Why was it so far away? "We don't want you to crack your head before the pills kick in," Why was her voice so far away? He should be sitting next to her. He tried to reach out, but his hands seemed to be made of lead.

"Wha' pills?" he mumbled, and then nothing, a big soft pillow of nothing what so ever.

A/N: So, that's the first chapter done. Sorry it's a bit short, but this was a evil plot bunny of the six foot talking variety that wouldn't shut up until I wrote it down. See ya next time sweethearts!


	2. More Headaches

A/N: So, next chapter. Spurred on by many things, including people reviewing… (Twilight Zone music) How bizarre…

SHAMELESS PLUG REVIEW my FIC jack JILL and THE curse OF the ELEMENTS. DOOO IT SHAMELESS PLUG

Disclaimer: Whatever…

Sands came to with a head full of fog. He was lying on something soft

"Buenos Dias sweetheart,"

"What the fuck-?"

"I had to knock you out sweetheart, so you didn't know where we were going,"

"Err, in case you hadn't noticed, fuck-mook, I'm blind!"

"Yes I had noticed. But I find blind people have a good sense of direction. So it was a precaution, sweetheart,"

Sands growled

"Don't call me that!"

"What ever darling,"

Sands groaned. He had never felt so thick. He shook his head. The fog didn't leave. So let's start small

"Where am I?"

"On a bed sweetheart. I'd have thought you'd have figured that by now."

"OK. Where is the bed?"

"In the last known place of your man,"

"Who?"

"Your guy who knew where to find El Mariachi,"

"Oh, him. Why?"

"Because he had an incredibly tidy mind. He made notes of all his appointments,"

"How do you know?"

"He was my cousin."

"Oh."

"Yeah, shit happens in this place," she laughed. Sands would have looked for his gun, or at the clock, but couldn't. For obvious reasons. Then something clicked. He struggled upwards.

" I'm lying on a dead man's bed?"

"No," gentle but irresistible hands forced him back. " You're lying on the bed in the room next to the dead man's bed,"

Sands relaxed. The fog still hadn't totally disappeared, so he was quite happy to lie back for a bit

"Good man. Now, I'm going for a bit. No monkey business, sweetheart. Or I'll kill you, deal or no,"

Sands stuck his finger up. At least you didn't have to be able to see that to know it was happening. He heard the door lock behind her.

The air conditioning swished and he sat up, and rubbed his temples. Those pills certainly did good work. Now. Let's find out about this mysterious woman. He knew she had a guitar case. He fumbled across the room until he walked into a table, cracking his shin. Cursing softly, he turned round and groped in front of him.

_OK, there's a wall. And that… that's a picture. Right. OK. This is a corner. Oh for fuck's sake_, he hated this. He dropped onto his knees and crawled. Debasing, but it worked. He reached out and touched a rug. Then rough leather.

_Ah, right, what's this?_. He felt all the contours. A guitar case. He ran his hands along the top. His had two long stickers on it to mark it out from anyone else's. This was plain. He turned it over to check. Plain on both sides.

_OK, we're getting somewhere._ _Now._ He opened the case carefully, from the side. Some cases had interesting burglar systems. Nothing happened.

_Now… what do we have._ Using light fingers he ran his hands along the top of the guitar. It was a guitar. _Oh._ Well, what had he expected? Not just a guitar anyway. He plucked a string idly, and something clicked. There was a movement of air. He got out the way just in time as he heard the blade swish. Then he reached out again and cut his finger

"Fuck! Damn, that is sharp!" sucking the cut, he carefully moved the blade till it clicked back into place. Then he started to feel along the lining. However, he didn't get very far because a gun was pressed to his forehead. He put his hands up.

"Really, sweetheart, did you have to?"

"Don't call me that. I was," think fast, Sands "looking for my case,"

"Really," with the gun still to his head, he was guided back to the bed.

"Yes. How do you get a functioning guitar in there?"

"With planning. Hungry sweetheart?"

"Don't call me that. Why?"

"Because I've found out about El Mariachi. And I figured you might want to know more about me."

Good point. Sands didn't even know her name. He liked to know peoples names. He knew who to send the funeral flowers to that way.

"All right, where are we going?"

"A bar. And don't worry; I won't knock you out this time. We can walk. Nice and economical," he heard her moving and listened. There was the metallic sound of a gun being loaded, and a guitar case shut.

"Are you taking it with you?"

"No, not today sweetheart. You are."

"Why?"

"Because a male mariachi is more credible, sweetheart,"

"Oh. Really, don't call me that,"

She sighed and pushed the guitar case into his hands. It was heavy.

"Don't drop it," she warned. "Some of the explosives in there are a bit… outside the law. And tend to be… cranky,"

"Cranky?"

"Yep. So please don't drop it. Just because you keep losing body parts don't mean I have to, sweetheart,"

"Fuck you." Sands let her take his arm. He was led into the street, and to her murmured instructions, managed not to get squashed flat by the articulated lorries.

The bar, when they reached it, was quiet. Sands could hear cooking, the chatter of the cook, low key talking, that paused when they came in. she led him to a table. A moment later, she said

"What'll it be, sweetheart?"

"Don't call me that. I'll have a tequila and lime."

She ordered a beer in the bottle, because 'the stuff on tap is piss'. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then she said.

"Go on then, ask away sweetheart. I will answer anything, providing I want to answer it."

"What's your name?"

"I once got called Lola,"

"Lola?"

"Yep. Next question?"

"If you have weapons in your guitar case, how do you play guitar?"  
"Easy sweetheart. I play a custom job. It's like a wooden electric guitar."

"Don't call me that. Why do you need El Mariachi for this? There's loads of back up around here. And you've got those armed men,"

"What armed men sweetheart?"

"The armed men in the bar,"

"Oh those. No such beast sweetheart. It was the only way I could save myself without killing you,"

"What? You bitch!"

"Thank you sweetheart. Next question?"

"What are you planning to do with El Mariachi? There must be lots of muscle for hire."

"He has skills others don't,"

"What skills?"

"Skills you don't have sweetheart,"

"Like what?"

"Well, he can see. I'd have thought you could have see- figured that out sweetheart,"

"OK, I don't have to stand for this. I'm off," Sands made to leave

"No you aren't sweetheart,"

"Why not?"

"Because you're handcuffed to me,"

"What?" Sands reached down to his wrist. And found he was indeed hand cuffed to her.

He sat down.

"I need you sweetheart. I don't like it. You might not like it. But we are joined at," she laughed "The wrist,"

"You know, I've just decided I hate you,"

"I've just decided I don't care," she sighed. "Anyway, you're rid of me for a while. I have to find some friends. And then we can get started,"

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Uh, I'll think of something. Are you still active with the CIA?"

"What do you think?"

"Well, I think no sweetheart. And I'm not any more."

"What happened?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Ah, I think I'll pass on that,"

"Good boy," a movement of air and she was helping him up right. He managed to drain his tequila.

"What now?" he knew he was being lead outside. "Where are we going?"

"You're going out," she told him. Then a sharp pain and more nothing.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he came to with a groan. "What the fuck was that for?"

"It wasn't me sweetheart," Lola told him. "It was the first member of the team."

"Who?"

"Me," this came from someone with a gravel spit voice. A hand took his. "I am sorry. I did not know who you were."

"Yeah well, you could have asked me who I was instead of fuckin' smashing my lights out!" The man's hand was huge and the palms suggested he was used to holding weapons. Sands knew this because he had calluses in exactly the same places on his own palms.

"Yes, but I know who you are now. Agent Sands is it?" What was that accent? Sounded Indian "I am Raj,"

"Raj who,"

"Always just Raj, sir,"

"Right."

"I'm to look after you for a few days. Just until Lola comes back."

"What? Lola I don't need looking after! I'm blind not retarded!"

"You have yet to prove that sweetheart,"

"Don't fucking call me that!"

"Darling, I'll be about a week, maybe less. If I'm not back in ten days, take the mission as failed and give Mr Sands his money. Let him go. He can go where he wants. Remember my instructions,"

"Yes ma'am," Raj replied. _Well, at least I'm not the only one with a stupid nickname, _Sands thought wryly. A car horn sounded.

"That's my ride," there was the sound of a gun being cocked and a guitar case being picked up. "Be good sweetheart,"

Sands grunted. Was there any point in telling her not to call him that? She seemed to do selective deafness. Which was annoying.

"See ya darling," and she was gone.

A/N: Well, she seems nice. I guess… next chappie soon!


End file.
